


Birthday Boy

by tiger_in_the_flightdeck



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Spanking, birthday fic, dildo, obligatory smutty birthday spanking, top!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:39:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_in_the_flightdeck/pseuds/tiger_in_the_flightdeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Sherlock's birthday, and John has found a perfect gift. For himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday Boy

**Author's Note:**

> There is literally no excuse for this. None.   
> I had a lot of fun looking at inspiration for the gift. A LOT of fun.   
>  Originally posted on my Tumblr

John Watson is not a selfless man.

Yes, he would willingly run across a field while under heavy fire, to rescue a comrade. He would stay up for hours, nursing a sick and frightened child to give her parents a chance to sleep. Without hesitating, he would die to protect the one he loves more than anything.

But, he’s also incredibly selfish.

“Happy birthday, love.”

The soldier snagged Sherlock around the waist, pulling him close. “I have a surprise for you.”

Grunting and squirming in his grip, Sherlock pulled one of his arms free to finish eating his toast. “If it’s that new scarf, I’ve already found it and tried it on. The material is very soft. Thank you. Please let go of me, I have work to do.”

“Ha. I knew using a decoy gift would work.” John’s eyes danced as he gazed lovingly up at his partner. “I’m about to head to work. Your gift is hidden there. One thing before I go, though.”

With one corner of his mouth quirked up in a hungry smirk, John spun Sherlock in his arms and bent him over the table. He smoothed his palms over his toned back and down the wide swell of his hips. Plucking at the waistband of his flannel bottoms, he leaned over with a purr. “Thirty-two, isn’t it? Ready to start counting?”

With his nails scratching the surface of the table, Sherlock moaned and nodded. “Y-yes, John.” He sucked a sharp breath of air in through his teeth, as John yanked down his bottoms. The first smack was gentle, barely more than a tap with John’s fingertips. “One,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to the table top. The chipped formica and acid burns blurred in his vision. The second and third were sharper, a full open palm that caused the plush round swells of his arse to jiggle. “Two… Three.”

As they reached ten, eleven, and twelve, Sherlock was achingly hard. A tiny puddle of pre-come had formed on the edge of the table. John was snugged up behind him, holding one of his shoulders as he struck. Every five blows, he alternated cheeks, so that they were each red and tender.

“Thir- Ohh… Thirteen. Fourteen.”

Sherlock bucked, trying to get a bit of friction between his cock and the table. Seeing his hips jerking, John shuffled back, pulling his partner with him. Groaning low in his throat, Sherlock dropped his head between his arms to look down the length of his chest to where his cock was bobbing and twitching. “Fifteen!”

The next few, John switched up between hard wollops, and almost caressing slaps. He changed the rhythm and pattern so randomly, Sherlock didn’t have a chance to anticipate the next strike. By the time he reached twenty-five, he was almost sobbing. His grip on the edge of the table was shaky, moving the entire piece of furniture back and forth a few inches. “God! John!”

“Those aren’t numbers.” John chided gently.

“Twenty-seven…. Twenty-oh god!- eight. T-t-twenty-nine.” Panting, he bowed his spine up, then arched back to present his arse for John’s hands. _“Thirty!”_

John shoved Sherlock forward over the table again. He knelt, reaching between his thighs to grip his prick. It was hot and flushed in his fist. He didn’t stroke, didn’t squeeze, just held it still as he nuzzled in between Sherlock’s cheeks. His tongue darted out, licking from bollocks to tailbone and back a few times. Turning his head, he bit into the taut, swollen flesh cupping his face. Sherlock yelped and nearly collapsed off the table. “Thirty-one,” John murmured, pressing a wet, smacking kiss to one mound of tormented muscle. “Thirty-two.” Followed by the other.

John stood and went to fetch the bottle of cool, soothing lotion from the bathroom. On his return, Sherlock was still bent over the table, his body shaking with a chaos of different sensations. “I’m going to put something on your bum, okay. It’ll be cold, so brace yourself.”

Sherlock nodded, almost sleepily. He looked blissed out and utterly debauched. Peppering his lower back and hips with kisses, John massaged the lotion into his skin, then pulled his bottoms back up. “Now, be good and behave until I come home, and you’ll get to open your gift.”

Again, Sherlock’s cheek moved slowly, lazily, on the table. “I’ll be very good, John. I promise.”

*

It was late in the afternoon when John returned, a package under one arm. He found Sherlock sitting behind his laptop, idly scrolling through his blog. When the detective looked up, he smiled shyly. “I was well behaved, John. It was hard, but I managed.”

John came around the desk and offered him a sweet, loving kiss. “Wonderful. Then I suppose you’ve earned your gift.” He set the box into Sherlock’s hands, and stepped back a pace to watch him open it.

“Oh… Oh, _John,_ it’s beautiful. Where did… Oh my god. This is _yours!”_

From the nest of tissue paper, Sherlock withdrew his gift. A little over a foot long, including the hooked handle grip, it was a pressed glass dildo. Translucent pale purple, it had ribbons of silver and black glittering dust through its length. The first six and a half inches were a detailed replica of John’s erect penis, while the remainder was covered in a thick spiral down to the handle. When he tapped it with his nail, it chimed, clear and musical. “I love it. But how did you get it? And to look like yours?” Lifting it to his lips, he ran the tip of his tongue over the groove made by the foreskin.

“A mate of mine from med school. His wife makes custom jobs like this.” Reaching out, John pressed the fat head past Sherlock’s lips. “She gave me something to make a mold. I just had to wank until I was rigid, make the mold, then let myself soften. Perfect imprint. Do you really like it?”

Pale eyes locked on John’s darker ones, Sherlock licked it from tip to base and back, exactly as he did so many times before to the original. “I love it. It’s perfect. But I have a feeling that this isn’t just for me.”

“Mm. Brilliant. You should be a detective, darling. Care to come try it out?”

They almost tripped over each other, in their haste to make it to the bedroom.

After several long minutes of touching and kissing, John slipped two lubed up fingers into Sherlock’s tight little hole. The young man whimpered, trying to fuck back onto them, despite the hand in his curls that was holding him in place.

“Turn around and face the foot of the bed. On your knees.” Taking the toy, John coated it with a slick layer of cucumber scented lubricant. Sherlock got into position, shifting on the mattress from side to side until his legs were spread a comfortable distance. He looked back over his shoulder to see what he was doing, as he probed a long finger inside of himself. “Are you going to use it on me?” He asked, voice soft.

“No. You’re going to fuck yourself. And I’m going to watch.”

The length of the toy made holding it behind himself surprisingly easy. Gripping the foot board, Sherlock held the dildo in place, and slowly sat back on it. It was both so familiar, yet so alien. When the head breached him, he let out a tiny, almost shocked gasp. “John… it goes in so smoothly. I’ve never… It feels wonderful.”

Chuckling, John shed his clothes and stretched out on his side to watch. His fingers trailed idly up and down his length, content to witness the show. “It’s because of the glass. There’s no friction. Does it feel good, love?”

Sherlock’s reply was a guttural moan as he sank down the remaining two inches that replicated John. “Fu- Oh, _fuck,_ John. This is as d-deep as you’ve ever been inside of me. And there’s still _more._ Can I… Am I allowed… Can-”

“Show me how much you can take, love.” John reached out, twirling his finger around the spot where the glass was entering his partner’s body. The skin was stretched taut, and quivering. Unable to resist the temptation, he leaned in and pressed his tongue to it. As he did this, Sherlock pressed the last few inches in. The slick glass dragged across John’s tongue until the swollen base nudged his chin.

“John, the spiral ridges… Christ, it feels so huge. But it still feels like you.” Keening, he fell forward against the foot board as his arm buckled under him. His other arm began to pump, moving the dildo in and out of himself. He clamped his teeth down onto the back of his wrist, hissing out his breath. “It’s like I’m feeling your cock, but harder and deeper than I’ve ever taken it. I’m sorry, John. I won’t last. I wanted to give you a good show.” As he was speaking, in whining tones, he didn’t let up fucking himself. His hand worked the toy, while his hips bounced in jittery little movements onto it.

John rose up onto his knees, and moved Sherlock so he was propped on his own knees and elbows. He took a hold of the curved handle of the dildo. It fit perfectly in his hand. “I’m going to put it in as far as it will go.” He warned as he drew it almost completely out. His free hand reached down to jerk over the head of his cock. Pushing the toy back in, when he hit the base, he twisted it slowly, so the spirals acted like the threads of a screw-cap.

Sherlock threw back his head, and _yowled._ “Again! Please, god, again!” Shaking, and sobbing for breath, he bit down on the duvet to try to muffle his cries.

John obeyed, screwing the dildo deeper each time until the base was plugging Sherlock’s arse. “My turn, Birthday Boy.” He muttered.

Taking himself in hand, John pressed his head just under to ridge of glass as he drew it out. Soon, only the head was still inside. John licked his lips and coated himself with lube. “Ready, my love?” Sherlock’s curls bounced in his eagerness to nod his head. The detective was still keeping himself gagged with the blanket.

One final tug, and the dildo popped free. Before the hole fluttered closed, John surged up on his knees, and thrust himself inside. Sherlock swallowed him easily, his strong, over worked muscles grabbing him and drawing him deeper. Swearing through his teeth, John dropped forward to brace himself up on one arm. The other reached around Sherlock’s hip until he could find his long slim prick. Aiming for the little gland that sent his other half nearly mad, John pounded into him. For a time, the sound of the bed springs masked his groans and pants.

Without warning, he felt Sherlock begin to quake and churn around him. “I tried to wait!” He cried, pushing himself back. He slid his arm down his body, between his thighs until he could grasp the full, heavy sac of John’s bollocks. He rolled them in his hand, pulling gently on the skin. “Come John, please. Come for me.”

Sherlock’s cock jumped, and pulsed in John’s fist. After being pent up most of the day, it seemed as if his orgasm lasted for hours. Thick semen splattered his chest, and belly, the rest dribbling out onto the bed. Through it all, he bucked and yelled his soldier’s name until his throat grew hoarse.

John didn’t last much longer. Just as Sherlock was starting to come down, John slammed deep inside him one final time. They didn’t do it this way often, without a condom. That thought alone, filling his partner with his come, was enough to make him almost bite through his lip. “Love you… Oh, Christ, Sherlock, I love you so fucking much!” Spine bowing, John rode out the last waves of his orgasm by biting down onto Sherlock’s shoulderblade.

“Ow…” Sherlock whined, eventually. He peeked back over his shoulder. “That’s going to leave a mark.” His lip jutted out in a pout, before he broke into a giggling grin. “Thank you, John. I liked this much better than the scarf. Very entertaining.”

Pulling out with a groan, John rolled over onto his side. The toy poked him in the hip. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Happy birthday, Sherlock.”

“It was wonderful. I can’t wait to use it on you.” He pursed his lips, thoughtfully. “Although, it would mean you would always have a physical reaction, whenever someone tells you to go fuck yourself.”


End file.
